


and if it's quite alright, you could be my way of life

by lizzybean



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Drug Use, Narry - Freeform, Post-Break Up, Slow Build, kinda golf au?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzybean/pseuds/lizzybean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A comfy cozy, post break up, slightly golf!AU where Harry fills all the cracks and gaps left in Niall's heart. </p><p>[The title is from Lewis Watson's Into The Wild]</p><p>This is 100% fiction, please do not send to people involved. Any mistakes are my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if it's quite alright, you could be my way of life

There are two times when a person is at their most vulnerable, when they're naked and when they're crying. When you're naked, you have no way to hide your flaws, the little things that make you you. When you're crying, nothing's quite in check. It's wave after wave of emotion and hurt, depending on the situation. Your face leaks fluids. You want to be alone.

Niall is submitting himself to both of those tonight.

“We should see other people,” Josh whispers as they sink into the sheets, Niall still stinging and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the insides of his thighs sticky with cum. His heart skips and he rolls quickly onto his side, quick enough to make him dizzy. This was usually the point where Josh would kiss him deeply and pull him closer until their bodies knit together. This was usually when he felt the most love radiating between their bodies, keeping them warm as they drifted to sleep. But then again, the 'I love you's had been growing less frequent... not that he had been paying any attention.

“Excuse me?”

Josh sighs, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face. He's silent and it makes Niall feel sick to his stomach, lips parting as he tries to fish for answers. His vision is blurred with dots, head spinning. It's too much, his heart still pounding with the the lingering orgasm, except now it's beating funny, like it's trying to catch up with the rest of him but still lagging behind.

“You're kidding, right? Just like that?” He wants to shout, but he doesn't want to wake the neighbors. It's nearly two in the morning and his little apartment has walls like paper. “Josh, this is quite possibly the worst time to break that news to me.”

Josh looks guilty and Niall just wants to hit him, scream, kick him out. Instead, he stands up, crossing the hall and kicking the door open. The knob hits the wall and bounces back to slam shut, leaving Niall standing buck naked in the middle of the bathroom. He takes one breath, then another, then the sobs ripple up from his chest, sinking to his knees on the soft shag bathmat.

“Niall? Niall please just come out here and talk to me,” he hears outside the door, but he ignores it, letting the cries tear themselves out of his body, folding him in on himself. There's a few more knocks and it could be hours, it could be minutes, but there are quiet footsteps, and he thinks he hears the front door open and close.

-

The smell of coffee wakes him up, his eyelashes heavy and stiff with dried tears as he pushes onto his hands. His immediate thought is _Josh_ , then an overwhelming surge of sadness fills his stomach, tears prickle the backs of his eyelids. Oh yeah. Shit.

He's sore from sleeping on the tile floor, body stiff as he sits up. His bare ass is freezing on the smooth surface, but he can feel the warmth from the kitchen seeping under the door, carried on the scent of a fry up and the whistling of whoever-the-fuck has gotten into his flat. His stomach grumbles but he isn't hungry, in fact he feels ill if anything, but he figures an egg and some bacon will do him good.

Wrapped in a towel, he ventures out, stomach curling in knots as he peers around the corner, relieved to see that it's only Harry. That is until the guilt hits him and he realizes the younger lad is decked out in his golf gear, a black polo tucked into his trousers, curls spilling out from beneath a backwards Titleist cap.

“Shit!” Niall squawks and smacks a hand to his forehead. He knew he had been forgetting something- how the hell did he forget it was golf day? Harry whips around in surprise and smiles gently, hand wrapped around a spatula as the eggs sizzle away in the pan. “Did we miss our tee time?”

Harry's smile doesn't falter as he divvies the eggs and breakfast meat onto two plates, setting them down on the breakfast table. It's followed by two steaming cups of tea and a plate of toast, already buttered.

“Don't worry about it,” he says as Niall settles down at the kitchen table. “Louis called me this morning and told me what had happened, and I figured I could push back our golf game until you felt better.” He takes a long swig of his tea and the sound of his swallowing fills the silence. Niall feels his cheeks heat up and he wonders what Josh said to Louis, how quickly word's spread round the friend group. He tries not to let it bother him.

“I wanna get out of here,” Niall mutters as he picks at his second egg. On any other day, he would have been finished the plate by now, but today he's full already. It was delicious though, he'd give Harry that.

“Figured you would,” Harry notes, corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he reaches for the leftovers.

-

Niall inhales sharply as his club makes contact, the familiar, sharp thwack of the ball cutting through the quiet of the course. Harry shades his eyes to watch the ball sail against the sky, landing towards the end of the green.

“Great shot,” he says with a grin as Niall returns to his bag, fist bumping him. Niall snorts softly but his grin says it all. They never quite fit the typical golfing demographic, what with Harry's crazy hair and stupid tattoos and... okay, so maybe _Harry_ doesn't fit the demographic. He's young and looks like he belongs in a fashion magazine or on a runway, far from the middle aged, pot-bellied, balding men they see whenever they come out to play a round.

“Thanks mate.”

It was just one of the many perks of being best friends with one of the employees at a golf club. When days weren't crazy busy – basically any week day between nine and three – they were allowed to go out and play a round. It was a step up from the local driving range, where Niall had met Harry when he had first moved here.

Harry might look like he doesn't fit in, but when he gets to tee, it's obvious that he's a practiced golfer. He eyes the course as he tugs on his glove, tee held in his mouth and eyes squinted. Once he's set up, he does a couple of practice swings, cracking his neck and shoulders before his driver even lines up with the golf ball. It's a solid five seconds of stillness before bringing the club over his shoulder in a graceful arc, hitting the ball perfectly as the club followed through. He stays still as he watches the ball, smiling when it lands only a few feet away from the hole.

“Shit, Haz,” Niall breathes out. He always looks like such an amateur next to Harry. The taller lad shrugs, a crooked smile fixed on his face as he slides his club back into his bag.

“Hey, at least your swing has improved since I first met you,” Harry jokes, punching Niall's bicep playfully as they start down the green, elbows resting on their golf bags as they walk. Niall rolls his eyes.

“I was shit then, and compared to you, I'm still shit,” he snorts, adjusting his hat. It's a beautiful day out, the sky peppered with big puffy clouds, the pines lining the sides of the freeway swaying slowly in the gentle breeze. It's calming, just walking and soaking up the quiet around them. It takes him away from everything going on, albeit briefly.

“Well if you weren't so busy all the damn time, maybe you'd be able to come out here and practice with me,” Harry notes simply. It's not a direct mention, but Josh is Niall's immediate thought. He had turned down so many golf outings simply because his now ex-boyfriend had shown up unexpectedly with a movie and takeaway and Niall could never say no to lo mein and Quentin Tarantino.

When they reach Niall's ball, he's too worked up over the breakup to hit it properly, whiffing it right into a sand trap. He mutters a curse under his breath and stuffs his five iron back into his bag, brushing past Harry to chase after it.

“Was it something I said?” Harry calls after him, a black smudge in Niall's peripheral as he dumps his clubs at the edge of the trap, tugging out a wedge.

“No,” he lies, voice firm as he lines himself up with the ball, legs splayed awkwardly against the slope of sand, eying the putting green as he tries to focus all of his frustration and anger into this one chip. He tries to picture Josh's face on the little Titleist ball, ignoring the pricks of tears on the backs of his eyelids as he chips it cleanly next to the hole. He sighs heavily, tugging at the bill of his cap so Harry wouldn't see the sadness in his eyes.

Harry watches him all the same, face masked with worry as he approaches the putting green.

“Hey.”

Niall sighs, leaning on his putter and turning his attention to Harry, lifting his eyebrows and keeping his mouth set in a straight line. He's being catty, he knows it, but how else is he supposed to act? The wounds are still fresh and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

“What.”

“Don't be like that, mate, come on,” Harry groans, knocking his ball into the hole gently. “I know it sucks and all, but... I don't know. I'm sorry.” He looks genuinely apologetic as he catches Niall's eye, walking back to his golf bag to return his club. Niall wilts, feels the corners of his mouth start to tug down slightly. He quickly turns his attention elsewhere, grateful for the empty golf course.

He doesn't have to even make it obvious that he's crying before Harry's wrapped himself around him, one hand playing with the soft blonde hairs at the back of his head, the other settled at the small of his back.

Niall just lets the tears fall.

-

He strips his bed as soon as he gets home. The sheets, the pillow cases, even the duvet, go right into the washing machine with more detergent than necessary. He walks around with a bin in hand and dumps anything Josh related in, feeling a bit more sane with each item that thumps to the bottom. He tries to flip the mattress, hoping to erase the slight indent of two bodies on the other side, but ends up on the floor with his phone, the heavy mattress settled beside him.

“You called?” Louis croons from the doorway in a matter of minutes and Niall peers up from the other side of the bed, giving him a small, sheepish smile. The older man is scruffy from the weekend, dressed in baggy sweats and a loose fitting tank top.

“Grab the other side,” Niall instructs as he approaches, clamoring to his feet and hooking his fingers under the massive mattress. Louis groans as they lift, pulling faces to make Niall laugh. It slides onto the frame with no more issues and they both collapse onto it with a relieved sigh, Niall onto his stomach and Louis on his back.

“How's things?”

Niall knew this was coming. As soon as he rang Louis to come over, he knew he'd be facing an interrogation.

“Ok, I guess,” he sighs, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I don't really want to talk about it.”

“I figured as much,” Louis hums, leaning up onto his elbows so he can see Niall's face. He looks concerned and it worries Niall. Louis never looks concerned. He's the most carefree person Niall's ever met, apart from himself. “You gonna be alright here on your own, mate?” he asks gently, not wanting to push things. Niall just shrugs.

It's not that he's never been alone before. When he first moved to London, he was alone most of the time. He made friends through Harry-from-the-driving-range, as he was known back then, and that had included Louis and Liam and hell, even Josh. They had met over the keg at a party at Liam and Louis' flat, the music too loud for them to even hear themselves think.

“I'm Josh,” he had introduced and Niall's eyebrows had pinched together at the center.

“What?”

“Josh!”

“Oh! I'm Niall.” He had extended his hand with one of his charming grins. Josh had taken it and not let go.

“Nice to meet you, Kyle!” Niall hadn't had the heart to correct him until they had climbed out to the quiet of the fire escape, legs dangling over the city below them. The building seemed to pulse with the beat of the music coming from the apartment, their bodies sat close together to stay warm on the brisk night. They'd hit it off easily: they both played instruments, loved food, the same kinds of movies... it was a match made in heaven.

Up until last night, at least.

“Well, if you get lonely, I'm sure Harry would come over,” Louis offers from the bed as Niall comes back into the room with an armful of clean sheets, dumping them on the bed with a soft sigh.

“I'll be fine,” Niall promises, looking up as he starts to spread out the fitted sheet, smoothing his hand over the wrinkles. It's incredible having someone like Harry around to be his comfort item, but he doesn't want to wear out his friend or pester him too much. Harry was always more than happy to come over and cuddle or listen, and rarely ever got fed up with someone, but Niall didn't want to be the first.

“You sure?” Louis asks, lifting an eyebrow, and Niall hits him in the face with a pillow.

-

Niall tugs at his red polo shirt as Harry lines his body up, eyes on the little green flag in the distance. When he's satisfied with his body position, he winds back and hits the ball, body moving fluidly as he knocks it just shy of the mark.

“Fucker,” Niall notes affectionately, pulling another ball from their shared basket, raking his fingers through his blonde hair. “We're not even on a real golf course and you're showing off.” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, trying not to smile but unable to hold back the wide grin.

“If you really wanted a lesson, I wouldn't be against it,” he offers, grabbing a ball for himself and dropping it on the faux grass pad underfoot. He really smacks it, getting it pretty damn far. Niall sighs and Harry takes it as a yes. He crosses the little barrier between them almost too eagerly, nearly tripping with the dumbest grin on his face.

“Buy me dinner first, Christ!” Niall practically squeals as Harry moves behind him, fitting his body against the slightly smaller man. Niall shakes him off with a laugh, giving him a gentle shove. Harry pouts over his smile, swatting at him.

“Oh hush, that's how it's done,” he jokes, stepping back over to his side so he can better see Niall's body position. The Irish lad bends into his knees slightly, fingers wriggling on the grip.

“Is that so? How many girls you pick up like that?” he teases, peering up at the other with a sneaky grin. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Too many.”

It was a well known fact that Harry was a charmer. At one of their group dinners, Liam had explained how Harry practically had a waitlist for golf lessons, and most of them were women.

“Had a right old bird, sweet as a peach, ask me if he was single. She had to have been sixty five, easily. Could you imagine?” he had said animatedly, getting a barking laugh out of Niall as usual and smirks from the rest of them. Harry was beet red, seeming very interested in his chips. Liam always had the best stories from the pro shop at the country club, seeing as he worked alongside Harry and saw these shenanigans first hand.

“And you know he would have gone for it,” Louis teased, giving the youngest a poke in the shoulder. Harry had given him a glare that could kill, green eyes slits as he peered at his friend.

“That's not entirely true,” he murmured defensively, swiping his hair from his eyes. “Just because I have a more... sophisticated palette-”

“That's what you're calling it now?!” Zayn had chimed in, eyes wide in amusement. “You've brought home forty year old women from the pub!”

“She was thirty-nine, Zayn,” Harry had snipped back, but his smile was still genuine, almost sneaky. “Jesus, get your facts right.”

Niall had cackled and nearly choked on his food, but it was enough approval for Harry to smile smugly at the table, crossing his arms over the linoleum table top.

“Ease up on your grip,” he instructs from his spot, arms crossed and nodding as he watches Niall's hands unclench. “Just let your body relax into the swing, don't keep it so mechanical and tense.”

Niall chews his bottom lip in concentration as he focuses on what Harry's trying to tell him. The younger man's voice swirls through his head, giving him gentle instruction.

_Your club is an extension of your body._

_Steady your breathing._

_Relax._

It's therapeutic, it really is. Niall closes his eyes briefly before bringing his club back, hitting the ball cleanly and following through, eyes up to watch it bounce farther than he had been shooting all day. He did a small victory dance, grinning to himself.

“Perfect,” Harry croons, and his voice washes over them like warm caramel, smooth and decadent. His smile travels to his eyes, the fondness apparent on his face.

-

It's almost ironic, Niall thinks, that he's seeing Josh at a Tomlinson-Payne party.

It was brief, but it was enough to send panic through Niall's body like a shock, his throat tightening as their eyes made contact. Then Josh was cutting through the crowd, using an extended hand with his beer to clear a path. Niall couldn't move, he felt stunned like a deer in the headlights.

“Hey.”

Niall couldn't even think of anything to say, lips parting to speak but no words coming out. Josh seemed to understand, but he couldn't help the sadness that passed over his expression, his lips set in a thin line. He had fidgeted, eyes wandering a bit before coming back to Niall.

“Look, it's okay-”

“I really gotta go,” Niall had excused, giving him an apologetic look before turning and beelining to the bathroom.

That had been twenty minutes ago. Niall was still sitting on the edge of the tub with an empty beer bottle and his phone in hand, eyes on himself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. If he was to give one word to describe himself, it would be exhausted. Maybe even haggard. Miserable. He can't decide.

When the door clicks and swings open, Harry appears, key in the doorknob as he looks up at Niall with an almost surprised expression.

“I knocked like, six times,” he says as an excuse, tugging free the stubborn key and closing the door behind him. The music's thumping so loud Niall couldn't hear him. Maybe he had mistaken it for the thrum of his heartbeat in his head. He's quiet for a moment as he eyes up the blonde lad, leaning against the mirror and raking his fingers through his hair. “You ok?” he asks finally. He doesn't look horribly concerned, but it's clear on his voice. Niall shrugs, eyes down on the floor between his clasped hands. A small part of him wants to cry, but he always does these days. He's grown used to it, stuffed it away in the back of his brain.

“It's just tough,” he murmurs. He needs a hug and it must be obvious, because Harry closes the distance between them in two long strides, crouching down between Niall's knees and resting one of his hands on Niall's wrist. His green eyes are bright but tender, drawing Niall in and wiping away every ounce of misery left in the pit of his stomach. He can't help the upward twitch of his mouth, dropping his head to hide how pleased he is at the attention.

“Meet me on the fire escape in five,” Harry says firmly, giving Niall's wrist a squeeze. When he disappears back into the throb of the party, Niall can still feel those long, warm fingers burning against his skin.

-

His feet dangle and normally this would make Niall nervous, but tonight it's a thrill, taking his mind off of Josh inside. How he had slunk past his ex-boyfriend he'll never know, but he had managed. Harry climbs out the window and shuts it partially behind him, long legs slipping through the bars of the railing and swinging freely. His fingers fumble through his hoodie pockets and he produces a blue and green swirled pipe, the bowl already packed.

“It might be rubbish, but it's better than nothing,” he says with a shrug, handing it over to Niall. “Swiped it from Louis' back pocket when I went in for a hug,” he adds with a wink, producing a baby blue lighter.

Niall smirks and leans back against the brick wall of the building, cradling the bowl between his thumb and forefinger as he brings the mouthpiece to his lips. He inhales deeply as the fire grazes the contents of the bowl, eyes slipping shut. He's never liked to smoke, but the airy feeling it leaves him with afterwards is enough to have him coming back for more.

He passes the bowl to Harry as he exhales, a fine white stream of smoke escaping his lips. It reminds him of winter, walking to school and exhaling to see his breath in the crisp air. The thought of it reminds him of how chilly it is this evening, and he wants to go back inside, grab his hoodie and bury himself in it. A lot of things about tonight make him feel that way.

Instead, he watches Harry smoke, his eyes settled on the flame dancing over the ground pieces of weed, their color sparking almost purple. When he releases, he coughs, trying to mask it with a smile and shaking his head. His eyes glaze with tears but stay bright, lit almost by the city lights as he looks over at his friend.

“Louis' been splurging,” he manages, voice deep and raspy from coughing. “This is far from rubbish.”

Niall chuckles warmly, basking in Harry's rough voice. He wants to wrap himself in it, curl up and entangle himself with that beautiful tone until it's all he hears.

But maybe it's the weed talking.

“Y'look cold,” Harry murmurs as he passes the bowl to Niall, taking his arm out of his hoodie and beckoning the smaller man over. “C'mere.”

The prospect of warmth is too much to resist, so he carefully inches his way over to his friend. He pulls his arm into the empty sleeve and presses his side into Harry's, taking a long, slow hit. He lets the smoke fill him, imagining his exhale carrying out all of the negativity and sadness that had been plaguing him that night ride out on it, float over the city below them and dissipate into the night sky. It almost helps, relief sweeping over him slowly.

Harry's arm curls around Niall's hip, fingers slotted against the slightly jutting bone, and Niall just takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of Harry's thumb skimming his skin.

-

It hits him in waves.

He feels it first in the pit of his stomach when he's back in his apartment, eyes fuzzy with the lingering effects of the high. He chuckles to himself and wanders down the hall to his room, shucking his clothes along the way in favor of wearing only his boxers. The heating's not on, so it's chilly, but he knows that once he curls up under the covers, he'll be fine.

Except he's not.

The thin sheets let the draft seep in, licking his bare skin as he lies there, still dizzy, still high. He blinks a few times. Usually this wasn't a problem, being cold.

Being alone.

 _It feels a bit like drowning_ , he thinks as he stares at the ceiling, pressure building behind his eyes. One long blink and a tear sneaks free, dampening his dark eyelashes. It only makes him feel colder and he pushes the covers away, stumbling slightly to his closet. His eyes scan the shelves for a blanket but he can't for the life of him find one. Everything is coming back to him and he just needs armor, a barrier to prevent him from sinking in too deep. His chest tightens and his knuckles go white as he grips the closet door, breathing coming in soft gasps as he backs up.

He's panicking.

He sinks to the floor against his bed, eyes wide in the dark, arms curling tight around his knees. His phone buzzes and he jumps, clamoring to grab it. He needs something to grab his attention, yank it out of the dark corners of his mind.

_get home safe? xx_

It's like a safety net and Niall smiles to himself, briefly, before tapping out a message in reply. His fingers shake but he manages a quick

_Safe n sound. cold tho_

His head falls back against the wall and he takes a deep breath, then another, slowing himself down so he can't even begin to think about anything but what his body's doing, how loud his heart is beating. It feels as if its about to burst out of his chest.

_luv u m8 xx_

Everything's going to be alright.

-

The sunlight pours into the room and wakes Niall early, his body cocooned in his comforter and sheets. The city is quiet beneath his apartment, and with a look at his clock, he sees why.

“Fuck me,” he groans and rolls over, trying to hide from the sun. It's early, too early for a morning after partying. But now he's semi awake and smells faintly of beer and weed, so maybe a shower would wake him up.

It takes him awhile to get out of bed, but he eventually makes his way to the bathroom, starting up the water. His reflection stares back at him and he almost doesn't recognize himself. He looks exhausted, blue eyes dull from lack of sleep, hair mussed and roots showing where the blond's grown out. The steam blurs his reflection and he exhales deeply as he tugs off his boxers, scratching at his chest as he climbs into the shower.

The water feels like it's stripping away the grime from the party, leaving behind clean, pink skin in its wake. He scrubs himself clean, starting with his hair, traveling down his body. When his hands reach his crotch, they linger, lip bitten between his teeth as he considers. It's been awhile since he's done anything; he hadn't been in the mood. He palms cautiously over his shaft and he's immediately aroused, cursing his high libido as he finishes scrubbing his body.

Once he feels sufficiently clean, his attention turns back to his cock, licking over his bottom lip. The tip is pink and flushed, shaft curving up towards his stomach as he wraps his fingers around himself. His head hits the tile wall with a soft thump as he starts to stroke, mind wandering. It settles on a pair of spectacular green eyes, a warm smile, a delicate hand stroking the skin of his hip through his shirt. Careful lips on his neck. Soft curls tickling his cheek.

By the time he realizes who's they are, he's coming over his hand, a low moan caught in his throat as he bucks into his fist. He sighs audibly as he holds his hand in the spray of the shower, eyelashes fluttering and head spinning as he hears the door open and close to his flat.

-

Of course it's Harry. At this point he doesn't know who else to expect.

“Morning!” he greets cheerily from the kitchen, digging through a brown paper bag he's set on the counter. He looks as if he's been out running, hair pulled from his face with a sweatband, skinny legs protruding out of basketball shorts. He's bundled in a waffle knit shirt that's way too long for him, the sleeves drooping off his elbows where they've been rucked up.

“Why're you so cheerful?” Niall murmurs as he digs through the fridge for the orange juice, peering over the door at Harry. He looks so much more awake as he starts laying out the contents of the bag, all bright eyes and smiling and those dimples. He produces a tomato and a carton of mushrooms, and Niall almost immediately knows what he's up to.

“If it's any consolation, I threw up halfway through my run this morning,” Harry throws out there, shrugging as he slices the tomato and adds it to the frying pan. Niall grimaces, and, ok, his morning hasn't been _that_ horrible. Yet. There is still time.

When the heaping plate of sausages, rashers, eggs and toast settles in front of him several minutes later, Niall grips Harry's arm dramatically, clutching at his heart with the other as he beamed up at him.

“You're an angel,” he croons and Harry rolls his eyes, sitting down beside him with his own plate. He's opted out of the black and white sausage, settling instead for a thick slice of tomato topped with sauteed mushrooms. Niall has his own helping, but it's smaller, tucked under his eggs and shiny with meat drippings, just the way he likes them.

“You're easy to please,” Harry snorts as he starts to dig into his food, piling it onto his toast. Niall bumps him in the ribs with his elbow, mouth too full to say anything.

-

Belly full and sleep creeping up on him again, Niall sprawls on the couch after helping with the dishes, fiddling with the remote until he finds some movie on TV. It's something boring, something he'll fall asleep to in no time. There's more clinking near the sink before a tall figure looms overhead.

“Scoot.”

He lifts his head from the seat and wrinkles his nose, slowly shifting so Harry can sit down. He puts his head right back down on Harry's thigh, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at the TV.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Niall mumbles, closing his eyes as Harry's hand slips into his hair, stroking.

“It was nothing.”

Niall rolls onto his back, eyes up on Harry and legs flung over the arm of the couch. He surveys the younger man's face for a moment before shaking his head.

“It wasn't nothing.” _Everything you do is something._ Harry's staring at him so he curls back to his side, not wanting to stare back. His little foray in the shower continues to nag at the back of his mind and he wiggles as close to Harry as he can get. The other lad just rakes his fingers through his blonde hair, slowly, methodically. Niall's eyelids droop.

“You've been the best friend anyone could ever be the past few weeks,” Niall continues sleepily, the words falling from his lips as he savors the warmth radiating from the Harry's body. It's intoxicating, such a pleasant feeling after such a shitty night. He almost wishes he had this warmth all of the time.

“I'm just doing my job,” Harry replies, and Niall can hear the easy smile on his voice, smiling to himself as sleep starts to overtake him.

-

Niall sits up with a start and it must be around lunch, the bustle of the city at it's busiest. Horns honk and breaks squeal in the street below, and somewhere underneath it all Niall can hear his shower squeak as the water is turned off. He blinks dazedly and stares at the blank TV screen, the window, the hallway. He can hear Harry moving around in the bathroom and he looks up as the doorknob turns, a slightly damp figure appearing in the hallway. Niall squints at him as if he could possibly be anyone else, raking his fingers lazily through his hair. It's standing up on the side he slept on, he has to fix it.

“Didn't think you'd be awake,” Harry murmurs from the dim hall and Niall shrugs in response, picking at a small hole in the leg of his sweats.

“Kinda hard to sleep with this racket,” he replies with a nod towards the window, giving Harry a small smile. It's weak and he knows his friend can see right through it, but he tries all the same. The last thing he wants is to look like he can't get back up when he's down. It's just hard to puff himself up and look strong when all he wants to do is curl up in bed and feel sorry for himself.

Harry knows. Harry's so much smarter than that and it's obvious as he pads into the living room, raking his fingers through his wet curls, holding his hair from his face as he settles into the couch beside Niall. He doesn't look at him, just holds his hand at the back of his head before letting it fall to his lap.

“I worry about you sometimes, you know,” he says simply. There's no hint of amusement on his usually happy tone, his eyes staying trained on the coffee table. He smiles to himself and it's brief, slightly sad. “Sometimes might be an understatement, actually,” he adds, looking up to catch Niall's gaze. He holds it for a while, what seems like forever, before he just sighs and stands.

“I gotta go, promised Zayn I'd watch a movie with him or something. Hope you didn't mind me using your shower,” he adds with a quick smile, starting for the kitchen to grab his things. Niall just stares after him, watching as he pockets his phone and wallet, grabbing his keys and the bag of what was left of the breakfast supplies. He's back to the couch in no time, leaning over the back and giving Niall's hair a soft ruffle. His hand lingers at the back of Niall's head, smile flickering on his lips. “Take care of yourself, ok? It'll only get better with time.”

With that, he's out the door, Niall listening to his footsteps until they disappear down the stairs, hand skimming over the back of his hair where the feeling of Harry's fingers still linger.

-

It's not really a holiday, but at the same time it kind of is. Niall wakes up to the whistle of the kettle downstairs and the smell of his mum's cooking, snuggled deep in the comforter of his childhood bed. It smells like home.

For his mum's birthday, she had insisted that the best gift he could give her was to come home for a few days, be with his family. Since he'd moved to London, he'd hardly been home, and he figured it was about time. Plus, it was nice to get away from his apartment, away from the memories that still plagued him around every corner. He may have gotten rid of the pictures and tokens and all of the general crap that comes with being in a caring, loving relationship, but their ghosts linger.

The rolling green hills and heady scent of peat was enough to take him far away from it all, bury him in his roots. He visits friends, has late night chats with his mum over tea when he can't sleep and gets to hold his little nephew Theo for the first time. He chips golf balls off of local cliffs with Eoghan. Everything about Ireland fills him with so much joy that he feels almost back to normal.

Almost being the key word.

_I know its the last thing you want, but we should talk, you know?_

Niall swallows thickly. It's his last night and he's in a pub with his brother and Da, and, Josh is right, it _is_ the last thing he wants. Just when he thought he'd be alright, everything crashes down on him so viciously that he has to steady himself on the edge of the bar. It takes him awhile to respond, but he manages a small, tentative _OK_.

-

He doesn't know why he agrees to meet with him just as soon as he gets back to London, but he figures better now than never.

The coffee shop is a relief from all the rain that's been pummeling London the past few days, and Niall heaves a deep sigh when he enters. Josh isn't there yet when he does a quick scan of the shop, ordering two regular coffees and settling into a back table. He messes around on his phone until the seat across from him moves and someone sits down. His body stiffens and he sets his phone down, flicking his gaze up towards Josh.

It's ridiculous how painful it is to take in his features and remember how he used to map them with his fingertips in the dark. It settles like a stone in the pit of his stomach and he takes a sip of coffee in the hopes that it'll melt and disappear. Nope. Not a chance. He's not going to let this drag him down.

“Hi,” Josh breathes out finally and the corners of Niall's lips twitch up out of habit. He wants to slap himself.

“Hey,” Niall manages but his voice wavers. He clamps his hands down around the coffee cup, using it as an anchor. He can practically feel Josh's disappointment as his eyes stay glued to the white mug, not straying from the warm contents.

“It doesn't have to be like this... you're acting like I'm pulling teeth or something.” The words cut deeper than Josh probably intended, Niall scoffing. He feels like a prick, but he shakes his head, leaning against the table with his elbows.

“Josh,” he murmurs, and the name feels foreign on his tongue. He chuckles dryly. It used to be so familiar, so easy. “This sucks. A lot. In fact, I'd probably rather have me teeth pulled right now.”

Josh doesn't look surprised. He takes a sip of coffee and stares at the table, tracing his fingers where the wood is smooth with wear.

“I wish you had actually talked to me when it happened,” he admits finally, looking up. Niall rolls his eyes and cups his hands around the warm glass of the mug, willing his heart to stop racing as the memories come rushing back. He almost feels like he's there again, naked on the floor of his bathroom, sobbing into the bath mat. It makes his stomach churn.

“I did,” he chokes out, trying not to let his inner panic read out on his face. He hates that this is what he's been reduced to: a little anxious mess.

“But,” Josh starts, stopping after a second glance at Niall. He sighs. “Ok, I'm sorry, I hate to see you like this, you know?” He skims his thumb over the handle of the mug, chewing the inside of his lip. Niall focuses on taking deep breaths, steadying his breathing so that he can try and relax, get past the tightness in his chest. His hand shakes and Josh can see it, watching it lift the mug to his lips, but he says nothing. It's clear he doesn't want to make it worse and Niall can't help but be a little bit grateful.

“I hope we can be friends,” he says finally, out of the blue. Niall forces a nod as he swallows a gulp of coffee. Anything to get Josh off his back. He just wants to go home and curl up where he knows he's safe, where nothing bad can get him.

-

_can u cum ovr??_

_haz_

…

_u had bettr b asleep_

The footsteps behind the door are not Harry's, and Niall mentally slaps himself for knowing what Harry's footsteps sound like. He almost wishes he had a key to the apartment like Harry has to his, but it's different. Niall lives alone while Harry has a roommate who smokes cigarettes and has skull tattoos and is just generally prickly.

The locks click and Zayn appears, wearing a week's worth of scruff and a tank top even though it's cool and damp out. It's hoodie weather, but Zayn seems unphased by the chill, usual bored expression on his face as he stares at Niall, expecting an explanation for why he's there.

“Harry in?” Niall asks hopefully and Zayn lifts an eyebrow, hand still clamped to the door. Even though he's known Zayn for a little over a year, he still hasn't quite gotten used to the other lad's attitude. He's so rough around the edges that Niall's scared to get too close. He's seen him soften on occasion, like when Louis and Liam practically pounce on him with a hug or when Perrie talks to him, all gentle gazes and tender smiles. When they're in a group, it's different as well; he's closer to other members than he is to Niall, particularly Louis.

“Yeah, uh, he's sleepin' I think,” Zayn drawls in his Bradford accent, leaning back to peer into the apartment. Niall's pretty sure he can hear snoring towards the back of the flat. “C'min,” he adds, holding the door open so the Irish lad can enter.

When the door closes, Zayn disappears down the back hall, Perrie looking up from the couch. Niall hadn't even seen her, which was something considering her shock of lilac purple hair. He likes Perrie: she's bubbly and peppy and everything that Zayn tries so hard not to be.

“Hiya Nialler,” she chimes from her spot, and Niall's hit with the overwhelming scent of nail polish. He smiles and waves, trying to not wrinkle his nose at the acrid scent of acetone.

“Hey Pez, how's things?”

“Good, good. Just hanging around. You missed a crazy party last weekend,” she says with a slight pout. It only makes her kohl rimmed eyes bigger, irises so light they nearly disappear. “Louis was quite the comedian, as you can assume,” she adds with a roll of her eyes.

“What'd he do this time?” Niall asks with a grin, leaning against the back of the couch. She sighs, moistening a cotton ball in nail polish remover and rubbing it on her nails.

“What else other than make a total arse of himself,” she notes simply, looking over her nails before picking up a file. “Liam had to lock him away by the end of the night so he would stop. He ended up passed out in the bathtub in nothing but his boxers with his socks on his hands.” She giggles and looks up as Zayn enters the room, his hands stuffed deep in his joggers.

“He doesn't want to get out of bed, lazy prick,” Zayn sighs as he flops back down on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table and letting Perrie drape her long legs over his thighs. A bold hand settles just below her knee. “But I'm sure if you jump on him a little, he'll get up.” He winks. The corners of Niall's lips twitch upwards. Maybe Zayn isn't all bad.

“Cheers,” he says in finality as he heads down the narrow hallway, giving Perrie a quick wave.

Harry's room is surprisingly clean for a twenty-something-year-old male: the only thing out of place are his sheets and that's because he's wrapped in them like a burrito, one foot poked out of the blankets. He doesn't move when Niall climbs onto his bed, toeing off his shoes as he crawls up the large mattress. He sits on his feet beside the sleeping boy, just admiring him for a second before he stands, crouching in preparation to bounce near Harry's head in attempts to jostle him awake. He manages to bounce once before Harry whips around and grabs his ankles, yanking firmly and tugging him to the mattress.

Niall can't help but squeal as he's enveloped in blankets, Harry's nearly bare body radiating warmth as he makes sure to wrap him in the duvet.

“Welcome back,” Harry murmurs, and his voice is heavy with sleep, deep and raspy as he curls against Niall. He seems perfectly content to just go back to sleep, eyes shut and lashes tickling Niall's neck. He can feel the smile against his skin, raking his fingers through the silken auburn curls that are close enough for him to bury his nose in and inhale if he really wanted. And he does want to, but he resists for now.

“How was home?” he hears after a moment of quiet, peering down at the pair of green eyes that are transfixed on him.

“Lovely,” he sighs, tipping his head back against the pillow. He wants to unload, but this moment is just so wonderful he doesn't want to ruin it. He just stays quiet after that, letting his fingers move methodically through Harry's hair as the younger man practically purrs into his chest.

“I missed you here,” Harry admits softly, drawing the smaller man closer to him with a long yawn. Niall feels his stomach flip and he hopes Harry can't feel that beneath his tattooed arm.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs lazily, nose brushing just beneath Niall's ear. Niall tries not to shiver.

“Well, I missed you at home,” Niall replies, his hand stroking down Harry's tanned arm, settling just at the crook of his elbow. Harry smiles and squeezes him. The warmth encasing them is enough to make Niall drowsy, and he yawns, lets sleep overtake him.

-

It's late, Niall can tell by the darkening sky, the clink of utensils in the kitchen as the scent of spaghetti wafts through the apartment. Perrie's laughing, the noise muffled through the door, and underneath the clatter of cooking, he can faintly hear Zayn chuckle as well.

Awareness slowly sinks into his body and he glances around the room, stretching slowly beneath the unfamiliar comforter. Harry stirs and rolls over, looking up at Niall dazedly. He looks so soft, sleep mussed and fuzzy as he presses up against his friend, green eyes slightly lidded and lips curling into a tired smile.

“Well I overslept,” he notes simply, raking his fingers through his hair before slinging an arm over Niall's waist. The Irish lad hadn't even realized he had shrugged off his shirt in the middle of his nap, bare chest pressed into Harry's and the other boy's arms curled tight around his middle.

“Maybe just a bit,” Niall laughs, and he's so close to Harry he can count his eyelashes. Harry seems to be thinking the same, eyes settled on Niall's throat. He's counting freckles. A soft, regretful noise reverberates in their little cocoon and Niall chuckles. “S'alright though, I needed some time to destress and everything.”

“What's up?” Harry looks up to catch his eye, hair swooped away from his forehead so his eyebrows arch up almost comically. Niall shrugs, sinking deep into the covers and wishing he could just disappear. He had nearly forgotten his little meeting earlier, and he would have preferred it that way, if he's being honest.

“Josh met me for coffee.” Harry stiffens, but Niall continues. “We talked a little- well, he talked and I listened, I guess.” He can feel fingers in his hair, raking through the longer blonde strands on the top, loosening the gel that had been holding it in a half-assed quiff. He closes his eyes. “It was just so forward and forced and... I miss him sometimes, you know? I was doing so well with being home and all. I felt like I was really getting past all of this, and then he goes and texts me and says we need to talk.” He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, nearly jumping out of his skin at how close Harry is.

“Go on,” Harry murmurs encouragingly, and Niall can practically feel the other's words on his lips.

“Well, I... I got all shaky and nervous and it was a nightmare,” Niall murmurs, eyes downcast. There's no easy way for him to admit that a lot of things make him anxious: he's never willingly admitted it to anyone. Josh found out when an elevator stopped working while they were in it, and Niall had nearly crawled up the walls to escape. They were trapped for all of five minutes, but in that amount of time, it was enough to completely unfurl him, leave him vulnerable and panicking in the corner of the metal box. Harry had found out at a particularly packed party.

Harry just nods, one of his curls ticking at Niall's forehead. When he reaches to brush it away, his fingers skim Harry's jaw, catching ever so slightly on the soft stubble there, far from what the other three lads had, let alone Niall's pathetic peach fuzz. It makes his stomach flip, thinking about being this close to his friend. The thing is though, they've been this close before. Niall just never noticed the little things, like the way one of Harry's eyebrows is slightly lopsided, or the slight bow to his mouth. He's never noticed how broad Harry's shoulders are, unable to help himself as he lifts a hand to curl over the tattooed skin, thumb brushing the dip in the muscle near his neck.

“I just really needed to see you after that,” he adds softly, and the words are tiny, barely audible. When his eyes catch Harry's, the other lad looks almost predatory. It makes his breath hitch in his throat.

“Haz,” he exhales, and Harry makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, almost a grunt, and goes to close the gap between them, lips nearly touching -

“Boys! Pez and I made dinner, come on now!” Zayn calls through the door, slamming his fist against the wood. Niall practically jumps out of his skin, grip tightening on Harry as the younger chuckles, shaking his head as he frees them from the cocoon of blankets.

“Be right out, babe, gimme a minute,” he calls back and strolls over towards his dresser, tugging out a pair of joggers and a zip up, dressing himself slowly. Painfully so, if Niall has any say in the matter. He leans over the bed to fish for his shirt, squawking as a mass of cloth hit him in the head. When he goes to glare at Harry, he's smiling, slightly lopsided as he pulls on socks.

“Put it on. You need something cozy right now,” he offers, ruffling his hair and pushing it from his eyes. Niall can feel the corners of his lips twitch upwards and he tugs the hoodie over his head, practically drowning in it as he stands and starts for the door. His stomach growls and it makes Harry chuckle, large hand planted in the middle of his back as they walk out to the kitchen.

-

Niall clips the ball and groans, Liam leaning against his club as he watches the ball, then looks back at Niall as if he's gone mental.

“That was absolute rubbish,” he notes blatantly, giving his friend a smile as Niall rolls his eyes and knocks another ball out of the basket.

“I know, Payno. No need to torment me. Been a rough week,” he explains as he tries to remember the tips Harry'd given him. He hits the ball better this time, getting it nearly as far as he did with Harry coaching him. Liam looks confused, thick eyebrows upturned as he watches Niall.

“What happened?” When Niall heaves a sigh, he holds his hands up defensively. “If you want to tell me that is, I don't want to force you.”

Liam Payne, always the gentleman. Niall shakes his head, picking up a ball and turning it over in his hand. “No, no, it's fine. I uh, I met with Josh and it didn't go so good, so I went over to Harry's and-”

“Did someone say my name?”

Niall turns pink as Harry strolls past them, one of his students in tow. He's radiant, skin tanned beautifully against his white golf polo and gloves and smile bright enough to illuminate the world if the sun was ever to give out. Niall can't help but stare, feeling a few pairs of eyes on him as he watches Harry go, the tall, lanky lad settling in towards the end of the range, already instructing his companion.

“So as I was saying,” Niall starts, but Liam lifts a hand, cutting him off.

“Mate, you don't need to say a thing.” He smiles gently, popping a ball out of the bin and setting it on the tee, lining up his shot before taking a good whack at it. It soars against the pale sky and Niall nods in approval when it bounces towards the end of the range. If he had Liam's power and Harry's accuracy, he could go pro, no problem. But here he stood, knocking balls at a driving range and counting the weeks until he next hit a golf course. Liam meets his eye and leans against his driver, chewing idly at the inside of his lip. “You like him, don't you?”

Niall pauses before nodding sheepishly.

“You know what the rest of the lads are going to say about it, right?” Liam reprimands softly, and Niall knows Liam wants him to be happy, but he's supposed to be responsible. Louis was the goofball and Zayn was the quiet one who disappeared for what seemed like ages. Harry was the baby of the group, the one they all protected most. Niall once watched Louis take on a man twice their size who tried to take a very drunk Harry home from a club. Harry was nearly untouchable when it came to being with him, whereas Josh had been a bit more expendable in the LouisLiamZaynHarry friend group.

“I promise, Payno, I won't do anything dumb,” Niall says as he lines up a shot, lifting his right hand so the other can see it. “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

Liam cringes. “Oi, that's a bit much,” he half whimpers and Niall's laugh echoes across the driving range.

-

It's raining and Niall is shivering.

Their round of golf had been cut short by cold, driving rains that had chilled them to the bone, and by the time they walked into the pro shop, Liam laughed about how they had looked like drowned rats. Harry had laughed sarcastically in reply before trudging, deadpan, into the staff locker room, returning with towels.

No matter how much he dries off though, he can't seem to shake that deep chill that cuts through his body, even as he unlocks his apartment door and sets his clubs against the wall. Harry traipses along behind him, bee-lining for the kitchen as usual. He's already shucked off his jacket and hung it on a peg to dry, tugging at the front of his polo to air it out.

“Go hop in the shower real quick, I'm making hot cocoa,” he instructs and Niall huffs, unable to smother the smile on his face.

“Getting bossed around in me own flat,” he says, teasingly. “I see how it is.” When Harry looks up, slightly worried, he softens at the sight of Niall's grin.

“I'm trying to warm us back up, stop muddling in my plans,” Harry argues playfully, flailing his arm in a motion towards the bathroom. Niall snorts softly, but obeys, disappearing down the hallway.

-

The hot water makes him feel alive again, and by the time he steps out of the stream, he's pink all over, fingertips slightly pruned as he scratches at his belly. He strolls across the hall to his room and buries himself in warm clothes, snuggling deep into a crew neck sweatshirt as he gives the space over. It's a mess but he doesn't care, eyes falling on the steaming cup of hot chocolate waiting for him on the bedside table. He purrs a pleased noise to himself and picks it up, letting his hands cup around the warm mug. The heat travels from his fingertips to his chest, radiating through his body.

“As much as I would have loved to complete our round of golf, I must say this is pretty nice.”

Niall whips around, being careful not to spill his cocoa after the fact, some of it sploshing onto the floor. He wrinkles his nose, using a nearby discarded sock to mop it up. Harry scoffs softly, taking a small sip from his own mug, sleeves of his cable knit sweater drooping over his hands. It never fails to surprise Niall how Harry can drown in clothes with his broad shoulders and long torso. This sweater engulfs him, creamy white against his tan skin, the collar hanging low and showing off his swallow tattoos, the tips of their wings just barely showing over the edge.

“Scared me,” he manages and Harry smirks, entering the room all the way. He's shed his black golf pants in favor of just walking around in his boxer briefs, hair swept up out of his face with a headband.

“Sorry about that. Didn't want to sneak up on you if you were indecent.” His smirk quirks upwards at the last word, punctuating it with another sip of his beverage. Niall rolls his eyes, chuckling as he sits down at the head of the bed, sliding his legs under the covers and holding them up so Harry can join him. The TV on his dresser comes to life with the press of a button, and he holds the remote out to Harry, not really in the mood but needing the distraction. As much as he wants to let things run wild between him and the younger man, he doesn't want to disappoint Liam. He doesn't want to make a mess of their friend group any more than he already has.

It wasn't even that he had made a mess with Josh. Louis, Liam and Zayn were still reasonably close to the guy, but it was hard to do things like their “family” dinners or parties without bringing back all those old memories. Niall couldn't help but feel a little bad.

“Is there any rerun golf on?” Harry thinks out loud, and Niall barks with a short laugh.

“Rerun golf?”

“Yeah, like, you know. When they show clips of old tournaments and stuff,” Harry explains, flicking through the channels. Sure enough, Rory McIlroy appears on the screen, walking alongside his caddy. “There we are,” he hums in satisfaction as he slumps against the pillows, looking up at Niall. “Rerun golf,” he repeats in his slow, satisfied tone, hot chocolate balanced on his belly. His long legs sprawl out beneath the covers and Niall shakes his head, legs crossed as he watches. He already knows the outcome of this event, but it's still entertaining whenever someone hits a particularly good ball.

At one point, Graham MacDowell makes a great shot and Harry kicks at the sheets with a small whoop, so in the moment that he hardly even notices Niall staring, glancing over and turning a bit pink around the tips of his ears.

“Sorry,” he apologizes with a crooked grin, sitting up and holding his hand out to Niall's empty mug. “Want more hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, that'd be aces,” Niall replies as he hands over the mug, raking his fingers through his drying hair. It sticks up a little, but he prefers that to having it flat against his forehead. It's due for a cut soon, the edges getting long enough that they curl down over his ears when he wears a snapback.

He's so deep in his thoughts that he squawks in surprise when something soft thwacks him in the face, a bag of mini marshmallows falling onto his chest. Harry _giggles_ from where he's standing in the middle of the room, the mugs held in one hand.

“Was that necessary?” Niall asks through his own laughter, prying the bag open to grab a handful, pelting them one by one at the taller lad. Harry dodges the first few and then tries to catch them in the mugs, holding them away from his chest so as not to get splashed.

“Totally,” he decides after a moment, sitting down on the edge of the bed and handing Niall his mug, reaching into the bag and adding a handful of mini marshmallows to his own drink. His smile doesn't fade as he takes a sip, sighing heavily as his hands disappear into the sleeves of his sweater again. Everything about him radiates comfort, from his swooping auburn curls that frame his face to the cozy jumper, green eyes shut in contentment.

Niall shakes his head in amusement, taking a long swig from his mug and coming away with a chocolaty mustache, trying to lick it away with a small, frustrated noise. After a moment he just laughs, biting down on his bottom lip as he glances up at Harry. The younger man's watching him, smile twinkling in his eyes as he reaches out a hand, skimming his thumb over Niall's upper lip.

“Thanks,” Niall says through a chuckle, nearly choking on his drink as Harry licks the pad of his thumb clean, eyes set on the blonde. He averts his eyes and pretends he isn't turning bright pink, suddenly very interested in his hardwood floor. He needs to do laundry, he thinks, observing the number of lonely socks strewn about.

“What?” Harry asks, but his voice is gravelly, deeper than usual, almost aroused. It doesn't help matters, and Niall steals a small peek at the other. His eyes are curious, and Niall knows its because of his reaction. He knows he's giving Harry what he wants and it makes his stomach flip. He tries to think of Liam, tries to be like Mister Sensible, but it's really hard with Harry watching him like that.

“Nothin',” he manages. He hears a mug land on the bedside table, a hand finding his knee over the comforter and gripping it gently.

“Ni.”

He refuses to look up, instead counting the marshmallows bobbing in his drink. Harry huffs.

“What's wrong? Come on,” he groans, giving Niall's knee a squeeze. “You're acting weird.”

Niall takes a deep breath. For fuck's sake. “Nothing's _wrong_ , Harry,” he insists, willing himself to look up at the other, licking over his bottom lip before repeating himself. “Nothing's wrong.”

Harry smiles lightly, relieved, opening his mouth as if to say something before dropping his gaze briefly, playing with a tiny fray in the pant leg of his boxers. He's quiet for a moment before his eyes find Niall's, a tiny blush on his cheeks as he scoots a little closer. Niall thanks god for his baggy sweatshirt: anything tighter would show his heart beating through. He's shocked Harry can't hear the pound of his heart against his ribcage, the way it leaps when those big hands cup his jaw, green eyes surveying his face.

When Harry's lips brush his, it's like a little light goes off in his brain. If it was a cartoon, sparks would be flying around them and a firework would go off in the shape of a heart. As light and gentle as it is, Niall savors it, fitting his own lips against the other's. A thumb brushes over his cheekbone and it makes him shiver, blindly setting his drink aside to free his hands. One curls in the crook of Harry's arm and the other lifts to his hair, wanting to feel those silken curls between his fingers. It's everything he's wanted and yet somehow more. Harry's lips are soft and gentle, and when they part, his tongue tastes faintly of hot cocoa as they lick into his mouth.

He breathes out slowly when they pull back, smile plastered to his face as his forehead presses against Niall's. It's the goofiest grin but it's so undeniably Harry. Niall presses his thumb into one of his dimples.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that,” Harry murmurs, flustered, hand dropping from Niall's jaw to slide down his chest, settling on his side. Niall smiles to himself, wrinkling his nose as he bumps the tip against Harry's, watching him light up. He loves that about him, how the simplest things can make him beam.

“Was this part of your master plan? Buttering me up with hot chocolate and rerun golf so you could get a snog?” Niall teases lightly, and Harry turns red, pressing his face into the dip of Niall's shoulder.

“Am I really that easy to read?” he groans, hands anchoring him to Niall as he hides in embarrassment, face warm against the other's neck. Niall just laughs, pushing gently at Harry's chest so he sits upright.

“Just a little,” he murmurs, biting his bottom lip before closing the gap between them. His hands curl carefully in the wool of Harry's sweater, dragging him close as their lips reconnect.

-

_I may have mucked this up_  
, Niall thinks to himself as he kisses Harry goodbye the next morning, belly full of one of Harry's all star breakfasts. The night had been filled with kisses and cuddling and everything Niall loved most about sharing a bed with someone else. They had fallen asleep curled together in the middle of the mattress, Niall playing with Harry's curls as he drifted off. 

When Harry finally disappears down the stairwell, Niall crosses his arms over his chest, left alone with his thoughts. And shit, they're not all very good.

As happy as he is to have Harry there for him like this and filling the holes in his heart with butterfly kisses and sunshiney smiles, he can't help but feel like he's let Liam down. Hell, he's let them all down.

He sinks back into his flat with that heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, hand gripping the doorknob. He totters slightly and it's that lead weight sinking through his body as he realizes how he's gone against all of his friends and made a mess. He's the worst mate those four could ever have, and it rips him apart from the inside.

Instead of singing his feelings from the rooftops, he pushes them down deep, nestling them safely where no one will ever find them.

-

Niall's too drunk. Louis had pumped him full of alcohol as soon as they got to the bar with the intention of finding him a one night stand.

“You need to have some _fun_ ,” Louis had insisted, one hand patting firmly at Niall's chest as he looked around the crowded dancefloor. Zayn had looked on quietly but Liam had agreed, the two dragging him out into the throb of bodies, both sandwiching him between themselves, ignoring his nonstop giggling as they ground up against him. Eventually they were replaced with someone else, a guy at about the same build as Liam that smelled heavily of cologne, his hands wandering. They ended up high on his thighs, not quite touching his crotch but close, thumbs hooking slowly in his belt loops.

And maybe he should have known better than to go with it, his lip caught between his teeth as he pressed back into the warm body behind him, alcohol coursing through his veins as he moved. Maybe he should have thought about Harry.

A warm hand had curled around his wrist and tugged, and he nearly fell flat on his face, finding his balance with a slight wobble before his eyes fell on a familiar pair of green. Harry hadn't said anything, dragging Niall through the thrum and past their table. The shock of the night's cool air had made Niall even more dizzy, hyper aware of the tight grip on his wrist and the way his stomach practically sloshed with the amount of liquor in his system.

And that's how he got here, leaning heavily against the wall as Harry just watches him, eyes sharp with something that Niall has never seen before. It's anger, maybe, tinted with the tiniest pinch of sadness.

“The fuck was that,” he states, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt dips impossibly low and Niall finds himself staring at the tips of the swallow tattoos, the antennae of the butterfly on his stomach. He's wearing one of his many cross necklaces and Niall swears that must be sacrilegious with a shirt that dips that low. With a clear of his throat, Harry has his attention, lifting his eyebrows sharply as if he's trying to get out a reaction.

“I don't know.” It's safe, but it only makes Harry huff, his hand lifting into his hair and tugging at his quiff.

“Of course you don't,” Harry spits, eyes anywhere but on Niall at this point. They're silent but Niall can feel the weight of the tension between them drowning him. He's just too drunk to let it get to him.

“It's not my fault,” Niall says finally as his memory decides to do him a favor, reminding him of Liam's strong grip on his hips and Louis obnoxiously singing along with whatever Top 40 hit was playing. “Li and Louis-”

“Niall,” Harry says softly, but it seems like the words just slipped out of him, his expression disappointed as he watches his friend. It makes Niall feel sick to his stomach seeing Harry look as upset as he does. That beautiful Harry glimmer is gone, leaving him looking dulled and almost gray. He wants to throw up a little, and he can't tell if it's the alcohol or the current situation that's making him feel this way. It's probably both. “What am I to you?”

“You're my best friend!” Niall half shouts, wanting to get that awful look off of Harry's face. He wants to see Harry as happy as he is when they kissed, his cheeks pink with the thrill and grin wide. He wants to see Harry smiling like he does whenever he cooks at Niall's house, spatula in hand and a song on his lips. His words don't seem to change him; they actually somehow make it worse.

“And that's it,” Harry states simply, shrugging to himself as he heads back into the club. When Niall tries to follow, he's held back by a big hand against his chest. “Louis'll take you home, mate,” Harry decides, and wow, okay. _Mate._ The words sting and Niall has to plant a hand against the wall to keep from stumbling backwards. It spins around his head like cartoon stars, and he closes his eyes briefly to shake the sensation.

“Harry,” Niall half squeaks, but the other's already disappeared back into the building. He slumps back against the wall until Louis appears, an eyebrow arched.

“I'm missing some critical information, I can tell,” he states simply as his hand curls around Niall's bicep and they start to walk towards his apartment. Niall shrugs, hands deep in his pockets.

“I'm a shitty friend.” It's a rubbish excuse but he's unable to think of a better explanation other than _Harry and I kissed, I might be smitten with him and I just_ officially _mucked it up._ He doesn't want to give too much away. Louis doesn't need to hate him as well.

“It'll get better,” Louis assures him, but the worry's obvious on his features, jaw set firm as they set off into the night. The cogs in his mind are churning, Niall pretends he can hear them, and it isn't long before he's got a devilish pair of narrowed blue eyes on him. “Hold on, what'd you do?” A hand plants on Niall's chest and he stops, heaving a sigh.

“It's not important!” Niall groans, and it's practically a shout. Louis lifts an eyebrow, slipping his hands into his pockets as they arrive at the front of Niall's building, stopping just short of the door.

“Well, I'm heading back there,” Louis murmurs, and the slight sharpness to him makes Niall uncomfortable. He knows what he's capable of; he's seen the tiny powerhouse that is Louis Tomlinson in action and it's never pretty. He just nods though, fishing through his pockets for his keys.

“Thanks for the walk home.” And Louis gives him a nod in reply, eyes still firm on him as he starts back to the bar.

-

Niall legitimately thinks it's a bad dream when he wakes up.

He starts off his morning bowing to the porcelain altar, his hands shaking as they grip the toilet bowl. He's too nauseous to eat, so he settles for a glass of water, curling back up in bed with his phone. There are a million and a half texts from last night, fingers trembling as he scrolls through them all.

_**Payno:** ys haz such a grump watd u do? _

_**Payno:** niall_

_**Payno:** niall I swear 2 god_

_**The Tommo:** harry is drowning in tequila_

_**The Tommo:** I don't like this at all what the fuck did u do to my hazza bean_

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. There's more, none of which are from Harry, so he ignores them in favor of sinking into the covers, closing his eyes tight. He must doze off at one point or another, because his phone buzzes, jolting him awake, and he peers out at it, the screen lit up with the message.

_**Zayn M** : hey can I co- _

He presses the screen when it goes dark, propping himself up on his elbows to read the text.

_**Zayn M** : hey can I come ovr 2 talk?_

_-_

Zayn doesn't even bat an eyelash when Niall opens the door wrapped in his comforter, hair wild and eyes dark and slightly sunken in. He just nods his hello and walks into the flat, heading straight for the couch. Niall closes the door behind him, leaning against it.

“How much shit have you gotten so far?” Zayn asks from the living space, the sofa creaking slightly as he flops onto it. Niall shrugs to himself, the gesture lost under the comforter.

“Enough. Care for a cuppa?” he asks politely, not wanting to be a rude host. Zayn shrugs, and Niall takes it as a yes, heading for the kitchen to put the kettle on. It's quiet for a moment, apart from the drag of his comforter on the tile floor, and Niall tries not to fidget. It's not as comfortable as silence with Harry, this one tinged with unsaid words that drift around their heads, lips pursed as they try to hold them in.

“I knew, you know,” Zayn says finally after what feels like ages. Niall lifts an eyebrow. The older man is staring at the wall thoughtfully, nodding to himself as he reaches up to scratch his beard. It's so typically Zayn, simple but still so cryptic.

“What d'you mean?” Niall asks nonchalantly, and Zayn shrugs a shoulder, looking over at him.

“He's my roommate. He tells me things,” he explains, tracing the pattern on the couch. “And when he looks at you, I see how much he cares.”

The words make Niall freeze slightly and the guilt churns in his stomach, clutching the kettle as he fills it in the sink. Zayn looks over, eyebrows lifted slightly. He continues after a moment of just watching, chewing his bottom lip.

“Look, Haz was practically glowing when he came home the other day. He was absolutely beaming when he flopped on my bed and woke me up at the arsecrack of dawn just to tell me how amazing of a time he had with you.” He chuckles lightly, running his hand over the back of his hair where it's cropped short. Niall hugs his comforter tight as he puts the kettle on a burner, leaning against the counter. “He wouldn't stop yammering on about how you laugh at his bad jokes. And how your face turns bright red when you're flustered and your freckles. It was disgusting.”

But he smiles, looking down at his lap briefly. “I love that kid. I'd do anything for him. That's why I'm here right now.” His eyes find Niall's, and the Irish lad's never seen the dark brown eyes look so soft. Harry makes him feel that way too, like butter that's sat out too long on a warm summer's day. Harry's the warm afternoon sunshine that shines through the kitchen window, peppering his face with kisses like sunlight.

And that's when it really sinks in that Niall's fucked up.

“Shit,” he breathes out, lifting his hands to push at his hair, frustrated. Zayn chuckles gently and of course the asshole would laugh at his misery. “ _Shit_ , Zayn what do I do?”

-

 

Niall is on the couch in Zayn's flat when Harry comes home at nearly half past four, kicking off his shoes in the front hall and sighing heavily to himself. Zayn jabs Niall in the side, nodding towards the TV. Niall hadn't even realized he was watching the doorway expectantly.

When Harry steps into the room, sweaty and flushed, he goes still, hand halfway to wiping his forehead. His eyes settle on the blond, narrowing slightly.

Niall forgets how to breathe. Even like this, Harry is one of the most beautiful people Niall's ever laid eyes on.

“For fuck's sake,” Harry exhales as he marches towards his bedroom and Niall scrambles to stand, slapping away Zayn's hand as it outstretches to stop him.

“Harry, please, just let me talk to you-” The door to the younger lad's bedroom slams shut and Niall groans, resting his forehead against the wood. He can hear Harry thumping around in the room and when he tries the handle, it's locked tight.

“Just go away, Niall,” Harry calls through the door. His tone's far from sharp, instead defeated and sad as the drawers of his dresser open and close.

“Why should I!? All I want to do is make things right!” Something tugs at his shirt and he nearly totters backward in surprise, looking up at Zayn. The older man tries the doorknob and knocks gently, in a familiar rhythm, waiting patiently for the lock to click open and the door to open the tiniest bit.

“You stay here,” he tells Niall, and as he disappears behind the door, the lock clicks again. It'd be rude to eavesdrop, and Niall can only really hear mumbling anyway, so he wanders into the living room again, plopping himself down on the couch. Once or twice he can hear raised voices, mostly from Harry, but he keeps his attention on the TV, arms crossed over his stomach. He knows he has no right to be, but he feels annoyed that Harry won't give him a second chance. It wasn't even his fault that a stranger had danced with him, gotten too close for comfort.

Then again, maybe it was. Had he told everyone about how he felt about Harry... had he refused Louis and Liam instead of letting them drag him out to the dancefloor... it would be different. Harry wouldn't be hiding away in his room. Harry wouldn't hate him.

He groans softly and presses the heels of his hands into his forehead, letting his elbows rest on his knees. He honestly wants to hit himself. He wants to curl up and disappear because he knows losing Harry will hurt a million times worse than losing Josh even was. It pulls at his insides, hands quivering ever so slightly.

A door opens and closes, the couch beside him sinking slightly with the weight of another human being. Niall lifts his hands to apologize profusely to Zayn for being such an emotional little mess, but it's not Zayn. Harry's sat there, looking concerned as Niall takes a deep breath. His face feels hot and he knows its bright red.

“Is everything ok?” Harry asks and Niall doesn't deserve this gentle kindness. It doesn't help that he blushes deeper, feeling slightly ashamed that he's so emotional. He just doesn't want to lose Harry.

“No,” he starts, tucking his hands between his thighs so Harry won't notice they're shaking. Harry notices anyway. Of course he does. “Look, when Liam found out I fancied you, he told me not to do anything stupid. I didn't want to tell him or Louis or, fuck, even Zayn, about us because I was scared they would come after me to put my head on a pike,” he word-vomits, taking a deep breath. “S'why I didn't resist having them drag me onto the dancefloor. I didn't want them to kill me to protect you.”

Harry doesn't really move, just sits there staring at him. _Now,_ Niall thinks, _would be the perfect time to disappear_.

“So...” the words hang heavy in the air, Harry looking thoughtful. “You were worried that everyone would hate you. Because you liked me.”

“Yeah,” Niall exhales, scratching lightly at the back of his head. “I really do like you, Harry. I'm just scared to death of Louis when someone gets their hands on his little Hazza.” Harry chuckles at that and Niall quirks a grin, reaching out to squeeze Harry's arm. It's warm and flushed from being outside, sunkissed with a fresh tan. Harry looks down at Niall's hand, clapping one of his own big mitts over it and squeezing in reply.

“And I'm really sorry I was such a drunken prick at the bar,” Niall adds. “I wish I could make it up to you.”

Harry glances up at him, surveying his face momentarily before lifting his hands to Niall's cheeks, eyes skimming his face. They're a pale jade color, framed by his long, dark eyelashes, and Niall stares until they close, a pair of lips settling on his own. He leans into the kiss easily and everything feels exponentially better. When Harry pulls away, Niall chases his lips almost, earning a soft, pleased noise and a smile from the other.

“I need a shower, but you're welcome to stick around,” Harry offers softly, hands not leaving his best friend's face. “We could watch some rerun golf, sneak some of Zayn's snacks from the treats cupboard...” They both share a quiet laugh, Niall curling his hands around Harry's wrists and pressing his cheek into his palm.

“I'd like that.”

-

“Loosen your shoulders.”

“Like this?” Niall drops his shoulders a bit, relaxing them against his club rather than holding them tense. Harry nods from where he's leaning against his putter, curls spilling from his white Titleist hat, the color only making his perfectly tanned skin look darker.

“I always say it, but use the club like an extension of your body. You wouldn't hold your arm like that on a regular basis,” Harry adds, going quiet as Niall goes to putt, gently tapping the ball right into the hole. He leaps up with a grin, looking over at Harry with a smile that makes Harry dizzy it's so dazzling.

“I should pay you for these lessons,” Niall laughs as he catches Harry's hand in a high five, gripping it tightly instead of just letting go. Harry smirks.

“You pay me back enough in bed,” he croons, moving a step closer so he can catch Niall's lips in a kiss. Niall hums a pleased noise, leaning up onto his tip toes.

“Oi!”

They separate sheepishly, Niall turning pink as Liam comes out of the pro shop towards them. Harry appears to give zero fucks.

“You two are literally ten feet away from the club! You can't wait until later for that?” he laughs, lifting a hand to push his sandy brown hair from his eyes. Harry shrugs, looking over at Niall.

“We could always wait until we get to the sixth hole, make out on the middle of the green,” he says thoughtfully, and Niall shrugs back, trying not to give away his amusement with a grin. His pokerface is clearly shit.

“You're the worst,” Liam huffs, shaking his head.

“We have to celebrate a good shot somehow, Liam,” Niall notes, curling one arm around Harry's hip. Harry leans into him heavily and they both topple onto the practice putting green in a fit of giggles. Liam tries not to soften at the show.

“Yeah, alright, just don't get caught, 'cause I'm not bailing you boys out again,” he hums as he walks back to the clubhouse. Harry snorts.

“That one time was worth it, right?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow curiously. Niall laughs, smacking Harry lightly on the cheek before leaning up to kiss him.

“Definitely worth a repeat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Basically wrote this to get over a break up, and it's been a work in progress since September 2013. Comments are welcomed :)
> 
> ETA: To everyone that recommended this on tumblr, I have seen a few of your recs and I just want to say thank you so much! You guys are awesome


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